Sunday Bloody Sunday

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The two mighty titans circle each other, ever wary.

Cautious.

Graceful even.

Both await the tiniest slip from the other -a telltale twitch of a muscle; a miniscule flaw in the armor. A wrong step. A fatal zig instead of a devastating, punishing zag.

In Blue, the thundering powerhouse, harvester of countless empire-shattering defeats.

In Red, the promising newcomer, possessing brutal, blistering speed and the ruthless zeal of a young passionate heart.

The match had started sportingly enough; introductions were short but potent, and then the lockstep dance of death began. Red began with an explosive, crowd-charging battery of iron-fisted mayhem. But Blue, experienced and wiser, saw his opening and before long Red was pressed against the plastic ropes, hands covering his head from the thunderous blows. Red's face, the wholly unrealistic hard, warrior-like face manufactured by a cash-laden bloodthirsty audience, was crushed under the sheer weight of God's own Doomsday Weapon.

But just when it appeared to be the upset of the century, when all was thought lost, the impossible happened.

Red rushed up with a colossal roar. A battered, defeated, desperate roar. And he connected with Blue's chin with an uppercut that defied mortal explanation. The oxygen was ferociously sucked out of the room, and for one magnificent and terrible moment in time you could hear nothing but the audience wheezing for a breath.

Blue's head launched upwards, neck and vertebrae exposed -an instant kill-shot.

Morbidly, Blue does not fall; spinal column severed, his head now dangled dead over Red forever frozen in that dedicated, maniacal gaze as the soul departed that now vacant shell.

Well, I screamed like a little girl.

When I awoke in the hospital, the doctors tried to explain everything away the way doctors do: I had gone into shock, evidently from witnessing some terribly traumatic event.

Blah blah.

Listen you! You think rap music influences kids violently? Try Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots, a cutesy little toy put out by the evil non-lawsuit-settling empire Mattel.

My team of therapists all think I would "fit in" better if I told this story like I was really freaked out about the safety of the toy. You know, like it was over the little blue guy's head coming off and poking someone in the eye. But that's a good point too! Blue's head shoots off, stabbing little Little Sally right in the eye. Blinded, lil Sally stumbles into traffic, causing a bicyclist to spin out of control and crash into a truckload of chickens and burst into flames as he jackknifes it into a Kraft truck. Pandemonium and chicken parmesan everywhere, a giant, fiery morsel of cholesterol-laden death smashes into a highway support beam under a busload of girl scouts, dolphins and puppies.

My God man! Think of the puppies!

Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots is an abomination to humankind: an elaborate plan for corporate types to hawk plastic crack to our nation's youth while giving odds at off-track online betting facilities. Kids are losing their Crayolas while THE MAN eats veal and charred, blackened husks of girl scouts, dolphins and adolescent Golden Retrievers.

Those ghouls at Mattel dream of nothing except rendering our beautiful blue-green planet into a gray and lifeless shell drifting aimlessly into the godless void ... a soulless abyss where interest rates are somehow relevant and lil Sally cannot possibly get a scholarship anywhere.

Mattel, purveyor of wanton, savage violence, rake in all that Christmas cash while you can.

... because I'm watching you.